


Shiny

by orphan_account



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:21:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1744430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She likes to feel shiny. A fill for the '14 Summer Hiatus Kink Meme. Lucky Stiff Filler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shiny

**Author's Note:**

> Out of respect, Josh doesn't exist. It's just easier that way. Sorry, buddy.
> 
> Thanks to Lou for the beta.
> 
> 2014 Summer Hiatus Kink Meme Fill.  
> Prompt: Pairing: Caskett or Castle Solo. Episode: Post- Lucky Stiff. Scenario: Castle can't stop thinking about her in that dress - her ass as she danced, her whispers in his ears, etc - and finds himself with a rather large problem. Your choice if it happens at home, when he is alone, or somewhere where Beckett eventually figures out his issue and takes care of him.

The Ferrari still smells like her; still carries the same scent that had wrapped around him in the club, when her body had been flush to his, and the warmth from her breath had tingled his ear. The heat from her fingertips, curled around his shoulder, burns through him still. And the images just won't quit.

The tight black dress is seared permanently into his memory now. Her smokey eyes, such heavy lids, watch him while he peels the material down her body, uncovering her naked flesh beneath, inch by tormenting inch. Soft sighs escape from lips pinker than he's ever seen; deeper and more guttural noises are emitted the lower he travels, his lips following the lines of the dress as he sheds her of it. No bra, no panties, and Kate Beckett has absolutely no shame. She stands naked before him, and he drops to his knees, presses his lips, his nose, to the neat thatch of tastefully trimmed hair, and inhales her all over again. That same scent that's lingering on the leather seats, proof that his car turned her on.

His pants grow tighter, an unwanted restraint, but not the kind of fetters he prefers to feel when it comes to Beckett. He doesn't care who is bound, but he might be more inclined to picture her in control - because she likes that - looping silken scarfs around his wrists, tying them almost painfully tight. Another scarf, sinfully smooth, covering his eyes, but not his mouth. She likes to tease his lips.

"Castle?"

Even the way she speaks his name, low, drawn out, almost reptilian in the middle as her tongue rests behind her teeth, pushing out the sound.

"Castle!"

He jerks upright, banging his knee on her desk, rudely and painfully snapped back to reality. Dammit.

"What?" he croaks out, the tightness still lingering, hidden from view for now.

"You okay?" Beckett asks, cup of coffee in her hand, midway to lips that are pursed in concern. Lips he really should not be focusing on right now.

"Yeah, fine, sorry." He turns his attention to the murderboard, but shuffles in just a little closer to the desk, hiding the bulge she would shoot him for having.

"Go home, Castle," she tells him, her pursed lips now a soft smirk. "We're done here for the night."

"You sure?" he asks, in no hurry to leave. Couldn't if he wanted to.

"Yeah. I'm heading out myself. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

He's still in his red shirt, mildly upset that she had to change outfits after hauling Marvin in. But it's in her locker, and the night's still young. "Need a ride home?"

He watches as she slides her lower lips between her teeth - god, he really needs to look away if he's going to be able to stand - and smiles playfully at the idea.

"As a passenger, Beckett," he clarifies. "My nerves still haven't recovered from earlier."

She chuckles softly, but then nods. "Sure. Thanks, Castle."

He slides his jacket off, and holds it in front of him as he stands. Possibly the least subtle he's ever been, but he sees few options right now. If she notices, she pretends not to. She walks ahead of him, and his eyes drift down to her ass, but all he's seeing is that damn dress again. He has the foresight to lift his gaze before they stop before the elevator. "You don't want to collect your dress first?" he asks, praying that didn't sound as desperate as it did to his own ears.

Kate shakes her head, punching the button. "Just want to get home."

"Wild night," he murmurs.

"Yeah," she agrees, distracted.

* * *

 

The Ferrari still smells like her; he wasn't imagining it earlier. It's almost imbued into the leather upholstery, the heady scent of sex. Okay, he might actually be imagining it, but he swears he can almost taste it. He wants to taste it, wants to slide his tongue across damp satin panties she may or may not be wearing, and tease her until she cries his name. Wants to bring her to a paralyzing orgasm through material, and watch her lingerie-clad body shatter before him.

Clothes, no clothes. He doesn't care which way his mind chooses to go. He might actually be losing his mind from wanting her. That damn, damn, black dress.

She climbs in beside him, gracefully easing her long limbs in, skin hidden behind too much fabric now. No, he prefers no clothes tonight.

"You're staring at my legs," she tells him, but there is a hint of amusement in her tone.

He swallows thickly, jacket safely on his lap, and blinks as he looks away. "Sorry."

"The black dress?" she asks.

"Yeah," he admits.

"Good."

He dares to look at her, and she's smiling, proud of herself. Her lips curling up in such a way he would almost describe it as devious. He finds himself frowning, confused by her behavior, seemingly so unlike her.

And the scent he hasn't been able to free himself from strengthens.

* * *

 

He gets her home. Somehow. Distracted throughout the drive he's amazed they're not wrapped around a lamppost somewhere. He wants her wrapped around him. He has for so long. The years of longing are catching up with him, and the jacket still hides the worst-kept secret in this car.

"Come up?" she asks, her eyes darting to his, then shifting away, like she fears his answer could be anything other than a yes. Her fingers play with the smooth material of his jacket, and she slides it carefully towards her, uncovering the need that's become painful now. Her lips part, and her tongue slides across her lower lip, moistening it. He wonders about wet lips, and his eyes drag down her torso, and swallowing becomes hard work.

She leans into him, reaches for the keys, and tugs them free of the ignition. Her breasts press against his upper arm, and, into his ear, she whispers, "Make me feel shiny."

 

He follows her willingly, jacket in hand now, but the buzz of nervousness fills him, because it's only ever been in his head before.

* * *

 

She enters the apartment after him, closes the door, and turns. She laces her fingers through his, presses herself against the closed door, and pulls him to her. And their lips meet before he can worry about nerves. The apartment is dark, the blackness a blindfold across his eyes, but her lips are familiar against his. He tasted her so recently he feels like he's been tasting her constantly since. His body presses her harder against the door, his erection demanding now, straining against the confines of his pants. Her fingers trail down, flicking buttons as they go, until she deftly undoes his pants, wraps warm fingers around his length, and slides him free. All the while her lips move with his, her mouth opens, and her tongue slides past his. And when the soft skin of her palm caresses him, explores and loves him, he almost forgets how to breathe.

This won't be pretty; it won't be controlled or graceful. His hands drag her pants down, and slide her underwear aside. The tips of his fingers graze through her slick folds, and she moans into his mouth and squeezes him in response when he teases her clit with arousal-soaked hands. He moves to trail hot open-mouthed kisses to the flushed skin of her neck; she angles her head to give him better access, and he hears her breathe obscenities into his ear, and slides two long fingers inside her to see if she will do it again.

Her breath hitches; he slides his fingers out; she tightens her grip on him, just enough to get his attention; he thrusts his fingers back deep within, curls them, finds that spot, and holds her up when her legs shake against his.

She breaks apart wedged between the door and him, her body shaking against him, the words in his ear too dirty to repeat.

He barely gives her the chance to take a breath, before he eases her hand from around his thick, hard length, and slides inside her. Her satin-smooth muscles still contract from her orgasm, beating against his erection like a heartbeat as he fills her. She's so wet, feels so damn good, it takes all his multitasking abilities to keep her underwear tugged to the side as he pumps inside her. With long, hard thrusts he moves, the sounds of skin hitting skin, skin hitting a hard surface, breathy moans, and strangles gasps filling the overheated air in the dark, dark apartment. He pulls back, spins her until her breasts - that he still hasn't seen - are flat against the door; easing one of her legs up until her knee rests against the wood, he thrusts deep again.

"God. Castle."

He has no words; she stuns him silent. So he grips her hips, and drives in as she pushes back, meeting each other thrust for thrust. It's messy, and desperate, but despite it all they find a rhythm. He moves her hair to the side, his hands grazing her skin with a whisper-like touch, and he places his lips where his hands just were, and sucks on her neck.

"Harder," she begs.

But he's losing control now. All he can offer her are short, sharp strokes, too close to his own release to fully oblique. But then she stills, he hears her fingernails against the wood, feels her body tense, pressed so hard to the door it will surely leave bruises, and then feels each wave of her orgasm as it washes over her and flutters around him.

He grunts, grips her skin rougher, and empties himself deep within her. His body leans into hers, and he breathes against her neck, realizing now how little clothing they had managed to shed. Sliding out, he readjusts her underwear with gentle hands, and then eases her away from the door. She turns, and grips at his forearms, laughing breathlessly at her own lack of control.

He trails the tips of two fingers down her sweat-slicked cheek, and he feels like he has succeeded, has done as she asked. His lips find hers, and he kisses her with fervor, thanking her for this night without words.

Pants are tugged up, kisses exchanged, and he steps out the door, to her whispered promise that they will do this again.

And in the morning he hands her a coffee, the aromas of the blend filling the air, but all he can smell is her.


End file.
